


Love Blooms In The Air

by griddle



Series: INTO THE DAY: Day6 Neighborhood AU [2]
Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Awkward Crush, Florists, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 03:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15428268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/griddle/pseuds/griddle
Summary: OR the dopil companion to which jae and brian are neighbors who developed a liking to each other.Here is Dowoon's awkward attempts to win the heart of Wonpil, the gorgeous florist in town.— side jaehyungparkian— sungjin and dowoon are bros





	Love Blooms In The Air

**Author's Note:**

> hey. im sorry this took a bit long, and for some inconsistencies (if there are any). i was sad while writing this. wasnt able to buy a day6 concert ticket in my country, and wrote this while in the grips of said sadness.
> 
> if you're someone like me, i hope this can somehow help alleviate your mood.

Dowoon has this stupid crush. It’s stupid because Jae said so, and it’s stupid because he had done nothing to remedy this “affliction” he has. 

At first, he tried ignoring it. Maybe, the crush will go away on its own. Maybe his feelings will disappear if he lets it be. But, on every occasion Dowoon has his thoughts stray on crossed-eyes and small, cute smiles, every time he sees Brian and Jae hold hands and prickles jealousy in his heart, he knew that ignoring the crush won’t work.

  
Then, on one desperate day, he ran to Sungjin out of stress.

  
Dowoon and Sungjin are brothers. Whence Sungjin had inherited management of their parents’ local supermarket, Dowoon was left with the task of them building their own business. Since Dowoon loved to bake, loved to create new pastries and bread to introduce, they started a Bake shop called “ **Dough Rolls** ”.

  
“ _Sungjin-hyung,”_ he whined, flopping over the counter like a child. It has been one of the quieter hours of the night, where the supermarket was sleeping, had little to no customers, and the minutes trickle down to closing time. Sungjin was down on one of the aisles, counting stocks and computing their income for that day. He snapped at Dowoon, looking at him apprehensively, sighing.  
“What is it, Dowoonie?”

  
Dowoon doesn’t know where to start. How can he explain that he, a guy, has a crush on another guy, who happens to be their local and absurdly popular florist? How can he explain he’s been harboring feelings and they’re about to get out of control?

  
Dowoon has his lips poised, frustrated, curled back and showing his teeth. He can’t get the exact words out of his mouth. It’s somewhere there, at the tip of his tongue. Sungjin stopped scribbling on his notepad to look at Dowoon, concerned. He knows this. Years of being with Dowoon taught him that his younger sibling expresses better with action than words.

  
“Dowoonie, you’re suddenly quiet. Is this about your crush again?”

  
Dowoon’s ears glowed a bright red, and Sungjin knowingly quirked his eyebrow, snickering behind his hand.  
“How did you know?”

  
Sungjin rolls his eyes, sits down next to Dowoon on the counter.

  
“Dowoonie, you’ve been going to the flower shop these past few months. Then you’ll always return so red I’d always think you got sunburnt.”

  
“W-well,” Dowoon sputters. “It’s not like I can help it, hyung—”

  
“Yeah, sure you can’t. Remember that time I had a crush on one of the customers here before? Her name was Haru, then I confessed to her later on because she told me she was just here on vacation and leaving the next day?”

  
Dowoon balked, baffled at the sudden change.

  
“What does that have to do with this? Is it not she wasn’t able to answer you when you confessed?”

  
“That’s not the point, kid.” Sungjin groans. “The point is, you sometimes have to take risks. Maybe so you can finally free yourself of those feelings. Or maybe because you really want to be with them. Or you want to just let them know. Because the thing with love is, the more you deny it, the more it insists.”

  
And while the supermarket song was still crooning softly in the background, he can’t help but think about what Sungjin said. It’s true, but it’s also easier said than done. It’s a task to admit things you’ve been denying, but maybe, he’ll try.

* * *

  
Dowoon’s wrong. He chickened out the next day, right at the very break of dawn. He had this resolutions last night, while he was accompanying Sungjin unload stocks from their suppliers.

  
_I’m going to confess. I’m going to confess. I’m going to confess._

  
But, fuck damn. He is a coward for cowering under covers at the prospects of confessing, the sun an indication that yes, today is the day. Or, the sun is mocking him with scorn,, and Dowoon is surer to stay under blankets than to face reality.

  
_Nope, he won’t._ he even delayed it by not helping Sungjin set up the family supermarket.

  
Well, to be honest with Dowoon, it had been a solid two months since he last Wonpil—  
There, he said it. the most beautiful man among a garden of flowers, Wonpil, florist of “ **Sunshine Blooms”**.

  
The name fits Wonpil. Wonpil himself is a ray of sunshine, no wonder those flowers back there bloom so beautifully, with the wildest fragrance and illustrious colors. There’s also a rumor spreading that Wonpil’s flowers can make anyone fall in love, which could be the reason why he’s popular, and might as well be the reason Dowoon fell for him.

  
He’d been drunk on the aroma and Wonpil’s radiance.

  
The last time he’d been there, Dowoon has been nothing but an awkward cactus, standing out so painfully Wonpil had to look at him concernedly more than a few times. It took him a solid month of standing in the store and staring at dandelions before he could even speak.

  
When he spoke, he just waddled towards a surprised Wonpil, blurted out a rushed “hi”, then ran for his life. He never went back out of embarrassment. He bets he’s redder than the roses Wonpil was trimming.

  
Dowoon couldn’t possibly go back, not when he has no ounce of dignity left. It all had been torn to shreds.

  
So, he shut himself in the bakery, hoping he could bury in the piles of dough and batter all of his feelings, all of his love, and forget about taking risks and jumping on possibilities.

  
Wonpil, on the other hand, had wondered where the mysterious (albeit clumsy) man disappeared to.

  
He missed his presence, although it was funny to watch him everyday stand stiffly at the same corner, pretending that he’s buying the flowers when Wonpil bets he doesn’t know half of their names and meanings.

  
His flower shop is simple— on the first floor is the front of the shop, where displays, the registers, and some add–on like fertilizer, DIY Garden Kits and flower guides are located. There’s also an airy workspace where Wonpil does the arrangements, complete with flower shelves, glass walls to let natural light in, and partitions for ribbons, wraps and pens for dedicatory messages.

On the second floor is his “house”, as much as you can call it. The floor plan is widely spaced enough for Wonpil to have his bedroom, kitchenette, and bathroom all on the same floor. Plus, he has good taste in design. His place is minimalistic, with soft pastel hues paired with white to have the illusion of space (he dedicated one wall to photos and trinkets he liked. He can’t leave his materialistic, hoarder persona). Behind the building is the greenhouse, where fresh flowers are planted and harvested.

The greenhouse is large enough for a family to have a picnic and lurk around, wide enough for a variety of shrubbery and rushed needs. Therefore, Wonpil doesn’t have to go out to provincial markets to supply himself. He has his very own ready on his bidding.

  
But then, it’s also lonely. Sure he have customers to keep him company, and the occasional phone call for reservations or customization, but, he doesn’t have anyone around to talk to. That’s why when the mysterious man appeared, it gave him some sort of comfort. At least there’s someone around he can look at, albeit every time Wonpil decides to speak, the man flees faster than the wind.

  
Sometimes, Jae is around to bother him, or to buy fertilizer and pots for his garden. Jae can never go beyond the front— his allergies to pollen rendered him stuck to just admiring the greenhouse from afar.

  
But, today was one of the good days, where Jae feels up to visiting Wonpil ** _(“I don’t like snakes, especially in their natural habitat” Jae once said, clicking his tongue as he, feigned hurrying to buy the gardening tools he need, huffed at a snickering Wonpil)._**

  
The blossom-shaped chimes by the shop’s glass doors dinged softly, and Wonpil hasted to fix himself. He has been a bit stressed over the complicated flower arrangement requested to him earlier, saying it’s to be delivered on the same day, rushed, but refused to pay higher due to demands.

  
“Hello!” he grumbled, plastering a fake smile on his face, plucking leaves out of his sky blue apron. “Welcome to—”  
“Hey snake,” a voice cuts in, and Wonpil visibly relaxes to see Jae ( ** _and another man?)_** enter, and not a customer. “Don’t pretend you like me. Get that fake-ass customer-service grin off your face, you could make Joker run for his money.”

  
“Jae hyung, I thought you’re that bitchy customer phoning me earlier.”

  
Said man frowns at him through his speckles, peers under the bangs hiding his eyes. Jae’s companion was busily scanning the DIY Garden Kits, but when Wonpil cussed, he too, jumped in surprise.

  
“You okay there?” Jae asks. Wonpil nods, shrugs tiredly. Unlike Jae, Wonpil doesn’t curse like it’s his second language. When he does, his patience is drained and energy on an all-time low.

  
“It’s just, there’s this customer earlier demanding for a complicated flower arrangement in a short period of time, but doesn’t want to pay higher fees. I already clarified on my website and forms that there should be a 3-5 days allocation for their orders.”

  
“There, there, Wonpil. Say what, we’ll get you out of here once you’re done, and we’ll bring you to Dowoonie’s bakeshop.”

  
Wonpil tilts his head, confused at the new name placating their conversation.  
“ _Dowoonie_?” Wonpil glances toward the other man with Jae, who was now next to them by the register. “Is that his name?”

  
“Ah, no! This one’s Brian, neighbor and boyfriend.” Jae gestures towards the other man, now named Brian, wearing some jeans and a tee. It took Wonpil a whole five seconds to process what Jae had said, bit by bit.  
“ **BOYFRIEND!?** ”  
“Oh my god, Wonpil, shut your mouth or I _swear_ —”

  
“You never told me you have a boyfriend! Is this why you’ve been missing on buying fertilizer?”  
Jae cringes inwardly. “No. That one time I was out of town to visit my parents.”

  
“So who is Dowoonie?”  
This time, Brian spoke up. He’s pretty chill besides his sharp eyes.

  
“I think you know who Dowoon is,” Brian follows, pretty much, before turning back to Jae. “Is he the one I remind you of when I was acting cute?” Jae nods his head. “Damn, I see why Dowoon crushes on you hard. You’re cute even without trying.”

  
“This just confuses me a lot, honestly,” Wonpil admits. He stood up from his desk, then walked back to the arrangement he was doing. “I’ll go back to work, stay put. I’ll finish this bouquet quickly, the bitch will have it flying.”

* * *

  
When Dowoon refused Brian’s offer to help him serenade Wonpil, he didn’t mean for the pair of them to bring his crush to his bakeshop and therefore melt him into a flustered mess.

  
It’s been peaceful when they left, the bakery back again to its usual hum of business. There’s a few customers sitting at the round tables, the others still mooning over which cake they should buy.

  
Dowoon’s bakeshop has a homey feel to it— dark wood and soft lighting, the smell of pastries in the air, but when Jae and Brian came back with Wonpil, it’s like they _brought home into his home, if that made sense._

  
Of course, he wouldn’t say that.

  
“Jae!” he seethes, for once forgetting about honorifics. “ _ **Jae, why’re you back here, what the fuck!? Go the back out or I’ll literally kick you!”**_

  
If Jae was offended by Dowoon’s lack of respect, it doesn’t show on his face. He had this ugly smug smile plastered on it instead, and he knew, whatever Jae is planning, it doesn’t sound good.

  
Brian came in next, in his tow, a replica of Jae’s smirk on his lips. Behind him is a person Dowoon wouldn’t think he’ll see in his bakery.

  
There, standing in all of his glory, is Wonpil dressed in simple black slacks and a peach sweater. He looked mildly impressed with the bakeshop, looking around the area and at the pastry displays. His large eyes landed on Dowoon, and said baker felt scrambling for his life.

  
“ **You**!” Wonpil shouted, points at Dowoon. A few customers were startled, looking around in confusion. Dowoon glared at a certain pair tiptoeing to a table at a far corner, Brian pulling a thumbs-up before completely falling away from his peripherals.

  
“Hey! I know you.” This time, Wonpil’s already directly in front of Dowoon’s perch, placing his hands down onto the counter, and staring, unwavering, into Dowoon’s eyes. Dowoon felt like Wonpil can dig out even his deepest, darkest secrets.

  
“Aren’t you the man who kept coming to my shop?”

  
Dowoon nods, albeit nervously, sweaty palm brought up to his nape.  
“Yeah, that’s me.”

  
“You never told me you had a bakeshop!”

  
The sudden shift in the atmosphere brought Dowoon off-track. He was expecting interrogation, the same drilling questions investigators crunch to make you admit your crimes. Dowoon admit he kind of exhibited stalker-ish vibes, and was ready for Wonpil to be suspicious of him, but not this.

  
He didn’t expect Wonpil emitting _a literal glow_ in front of his face, he had to squint.  
“ _Excuse me?_ ” he squeaked.

  
“I like pastries! And _oh my god_ you have a lot of food here! Is that chocolate! I see pretzels as well, oh god, wait ‘till Jae hears this—”

  
“I, uh, I’m actually friends with Jae.”

  
“You’re _**what**_?” Wonpil balks at Dowoon, then stalks over to where Brian and Jae are seated. Dowoon could make out Wonpil hissing at Jae, Jae calling Wonpil “snake” over five times.

  
“But I’ve been wondering where this man went! And you only said now that you’re friends with him? He’s my type, you know!”

  
This caught Dowoon off-guard. _Wonpil finds him attractive?_ He squats behind the counter, cradles his short-circuited brain in his palms. _There’s too much information, too little time to process._

  
“Dowoon? Dowoon?” Wonpil calls. “I’m sorry I’m causing a mess in here. Don’t worry, I’ll buy a lot of your pastries.”

  
“—no, no, I’m okay.” Wonpil continued peering at the display shelf, then back at Dowoon.

“You know,” he began, “the name of your bakeshop suits you.”

  
Dowoon grins bashful. “Ah, thanks—”

  
“ **Dough- _woon_. Dough _Rolls_.** I like it.” Dowoon’s face crumpled, felt like he just ate something sour and left the ugly taste on his tongue. “Please don’t call me that.” Wonpil smiles at it, scoffing.

  
Later on, when Dowoon was done with their order and was ringing them up, Wonpil slides back, flips a paper in Dowoon’s hold. Dowoon unfolds it— in it, written are the words “ _springtime is in you_ ” instead of the usual name, number, address.

  
“What’s this?” Dowoon asks. Wonpil shrugs, only his eyes giving away the slightest of information, a secret on his own.

  
“You’ll know,” he answers. “I’ll give you this: Jae-hyung is a dahlia, Brian’s an angrec flower. But when I see them together, they’re like long-lost lovers finally united.”

  
They peered at the said couple bickering over which cake tastes better, Jae obviously biased towards his order despite nabbing at Brian’s cake.

  
“—so I think that together, they’re this wild garden of heliotropes, a bit of honeysuckles, red tulips and jasmines.”

  
“I barely know anything about flowers,”

Dowoon confides, deflated, but Wonpil just smiles at him.

  
“That’s why I told you to find out, dough-woon, because you better know what you mean to me through that.”

  
Wonpil points at the paper, winking as he takes their table’s order from Dowoon, the latter flaring a deep red up to his ears. He can hear Brian coo at him, and still feel Wonpil’s gaze on him as he retreated to collect himself in the pantry.

* * *

  
“Hello, delivery!”

  
It’s been a week since Wonpil entered his bakeshop. It’s the wee hours of preparation before opening time, and business is back to usual. Dowoon peeked around one of the tables he was cleaning, intrigued by the visitor who didn’t come to order, but to deliver.

  
“I didn’t order anything,” he says, “The supplies I asked before arrived already—”

  
“Oh, this is not for your supplies.” The delivery man smiled, a face familiar to Dowoon. The man produced a bouquet from behind his back.

  
“This is for you.”

  
Dowoon hastened to receive the bouquet, a mix of baby’s breath and forget-me-nots. He flared a baby pink up his neck, and the delivery man can’t stop himself from chuckling at it.

He still has no idea what the flowers meant. He supposed to check it up previously, but he always end up scrolling across cat videos and falling asleep. Probably due to work exhaustion.

And he knows where the flowers came from. There’s no other man out there who’ll have enough time and energy to deliver such.

  
A soft ring emitted from somewhere in the pantry, and Dowoon scuttled to pick his phone after rushing out thanks to the delivery man.

  
_6:00 A.M.: Did you get it? :) — Wonpil_   
_P.S. I got your number from Jae_

  
He did his very best not to collapse right on the spot, try to search up the meaning of the bouquet, tried his best to stay calm when he read the description:

 

  * **_Forget-me-not Flower:_ true, unforgettable love**



 

  * **_Baby’s breath:_ usually a flower used for weddings, symbolizes pure love and/or purity, as well as innocence**



When the customers came in that day, they wondered why the usually stoic baker is unabashingly flustered and spaced-out, skin kissed a deep pink, and his countertop decorated with the most beautiful flower choice arrangement the town has ever seen.

There’s also a card tied around one of the flowers, reading “ _springtime is in you”._

  
Where did it come from, they ask, but there’s no answer. Instead, every time they do, he just stares at the vase where the bouquet resides, a new shade of the red spectrum coloring his face.

He’d smile at them, in a way that they knew, their baker had obviously fallen smitten in love with someone.

* * *

  
The reply came later in the evening.

  
_ 6:30 P.M.: Meet me in my bakeshop now. — dough-woon _

  
The snap in Dowoon’s assertive text surprised Wonpil a bit, not expecting the baker to be this direct. Still, he found it endearing as well. At least the man is coming out of his quiet shell.

  
He arrived 30 minutes later despite the fact that Dowoon’s shop is just a 15 minute walk— half of the time Wonpil spent.

To be honest, he felt stupid to even debate on his outfit, switching out quickly of his casual attire and donning something semi-formal, even staring at his reflection in his bathroom, getting into a haste of removing his clothes, taking a quick shower, then putting the outfit back on.

It was a polo tucked under a grey sweater, retaining his black pants and brown leather shoes.

  
“I’m here,” he called shyly, peeking around the glass door he opened. The bakeshop seems closed, except for one table under mellow lights , the same bouquet he gave adorning as centerpiece.

  
“You cleaned up well. I’m not yet used to seeing you without petals in your hair.”

  
Dowoon emerged from the pantry, the smell of food following him around. Wonpil felt his heart clench at the sight.

The baker was holding two platters of pasta, black long sleeves rolled up to his knees, apron around his waist. His face was softer in the night light, a kinder curve to it, but with the same taut pull of his expressions.

  
“You say that,” he half-jokes, “but look at yourself. You’re more charming up close than I thought.”

  
Dowoon chuckled, sets the plates down the table, leads Wonpil to sit down on a chair across his. “Then this is a good opportunity for us to be familiar.”

Dowoon’s too close to Wonpil, mouth near to his ear, a whisper sending far too many shivers down Wonpil’s spine, sends a blush up his cheeks.

  
“Well, what’s this?” By this time Dowoon’s already seated across Wonpil, the soft hum of Dowoon’s background music trickling like water.

Dowoon rolled his sleeves a quarter lower, apron discarded back at the counter.

  
“It’s a date disguised as me inviting you over to taste my new menu.”

  
Wonpil hides behind his hand his grin, the sparkle of his eyes giving him away, the same blush rising up Dowoon’s neck. For once, Wonpil felt they’re on equal ground of being flustered.

  
“Why did you decide on a new menu?”

  
“Some of the customer’s feedback suggested for more food options other than baked goods and pastries. So I had a few pasta recipes dished, then salads. Two each. All of the four here at our table, ready for you to judge.”

  
Wonpil can see the slight sweat on Dowoon’s forehead, the small wring of his fingers, the slow thump of his foot against the floor. He sighs, clasps Dowoon’s clammy hand and smooths a thumb over it.

  
“Whatever you did, I bet it tastes great.”

  
Dowoon rolled his eyes. “I expected that, but I really need honest criticism.”

  
“Why me?”

“Because I trust you the most.”

  
With that, Wonpil took a small bite from one of the pasta platters, chewed it slowly in his mouth, rolls the flavor around his tongue.

Dowoon watched in amazement how Wonpil’s eyes widened, hand close over his lips.

  
“ _This is actually good!”_  
“It is?” Dowoon breathes, sighs in relief.

Wonpil nods, swallows the food. “The sauce is exploding with flavor, I don’t know what the heck spice did you use. The pasta’s soft and round, a little bit dry, I guess. Maybe add more water? Boil it a little more and strain a little less? Add to flour consistency?”

  
“Okay. Got it.”

  
“Honestly, it’s good. The customers will love it. I _loved_ it!” he grins at Dowoon before shrugging. “I don’t know how to cook, can’t cook that well, and this is the best meal I had so far.”

  
Dowoon frowns. “Why can’t you cook?”

  
“Everything I do in the kitchen is a disaster. I once tried making Jae seaweed soup for his birthday, and it ended up tasting like the fucking ocean.”

  
The atmosphere is quiet, save for Dowoon’s quiet laughter, eyes shining as he looked at Wonpil fondly eating the new menu he made.

  
_I can cook for you, if you want._

  
_“You what?”_

  
Dowoon blinked in surprise, eyes re-focusing on a baffled Wonpil, felt another flush rise up his neck, to his cheeks. He didn’t mean to say them out loud. Instead, Wonpil giggles, goes back to his food, quietly answering:  
_“—you can, if you want to.”_

  
Dowoon sighs, picks at his own platter of food. “That’s not how I wanted to ask you out to date me.”

  
**_—date you—_**  
“Then how?”

  
“I had this complicated plan of saying that I looked up the flowers you gave me—” a small smile crawled to Wonpil’s lips— “and say that I found a flower for you, for us.”

  
Wonpil felt a leap in his heartbeat. _Us_. “So? What flowers did you find?”

  
Dowoon’s chews a little, swallows before speaking again. “You’re a literal sunflower, Wonpil—”  
“I get that a lot—” Wonpil laughs,

  
“But for me,” Dowoon continues. “You’re my primrose.”

  
Wonpil turns— _his primrose, his eternal love_ —

  
“—and we could be chrysanthemums, red and yellow together, because that’s how I see you.”

  
A _precious love,_ Wonpil recalls. Before he knew it, he was stunned silent, felt tears prickle his eyes.

  
“Wonpil?” Dowoon calls, worried. “Wonpil—”  
“ **Stop** ,” the florist hiccups, wipes at his eyes angrily. “ I am so consumed by my love for you, I—”

  
He sniffles, cries harder. “You–you _**affect**_ me so much. Goddamn, when I first saw you awkwardly standing in my shop, I felt a relief you know? Finally, I have someone to talk to besides the flowers and not look like a lunatic doing so. And then, I didn’t know why, but you remind me of the moonflower. And then I was crushing on you so hard because your presence alone brings enough warmth. I didn’t feel as lonely as before.”

  
Dowoon stands up, cups a crying Wonpil’s face, wipes at his tears. “And here I thought I looked like a fucking cactus full of thorns in that shop. I thought you’re thrown off when I ran after saying hello, I didn’t want to come back.”

  
“ **Kiss me, you fool.”**

  
“ _Huh_?” Dowoon balks, shocked at the sudden demand. Wonpil glared at him through teary eyes, a small pout forming on his face.

  
“You seduced me with how weird and awkward and attractive you are, and then you feed me amazing food I would kill to taste it again, and then you take the time to bother looking up the flowers I’ve been sending you. No one did that before you.”

  
“To be fair,” Dowoon concedes. “The day I saw you helping Jae fix his lawn was a sight.”

  
“You saw me?”

  
Dowoon nods. “Sungjin is my older brother, and we live directly across Jae. That day, you looked like literal sunshine nourishing the little bulbs of plants on Jae’s lawn. Your smile was wide and your hair was whipping your hair around. Sungjin had to shake me out of my stupor, then when I asked Jae who are you, the two of them can’t stop joking about it.”

  
“Why didn’t I know any of this?” Wonpil asks.

  
“I asked them not to. I mean I look awkward and weird. I wanted to make a good impression but made a fool out of me instead—"

  
Dowoon’s rant was cut off by lips pressing against his. The taste of pasta and salad was still there, the salt of Wonpil’s tears mingling with the littlest hint of mint candies.

  
“Looks like I have to keep on making the first move,” Wonpil cracks when he stops, gazes at Dowoon. The baker shakes his head, smiles, kisses softly away at Wonpil’s tear streaks.

  
“Don’t worry, I’ll follow up,” he says before kissing Wonpil, laughing into it.

* * *

  
The bakeshop had a revamp a month later, the new menu up and available. What’s more, that on the front of the shop, are flowers cupped within fancy fences.

There’s a distinct collection of forget-me-nots, moonflowers, baby’s breath. Inside, Dowoon decorated the entrance with primrose standees, and his countertop with a vase of chrysanthemums.

The customers enjoyed the new scene, enjoyed the sight of lovely flowers paired with delicious food.

  
Wonpil, on the other hand, had a new set of pastries every other week, to eat as snacks as he worked. Food was spent at the bakeshop, two souls enjoying each other’s company while eating dinner.

**Author's Note:**

> A FLOWER GUIDE!  
> 1\. JAE (dahlia): elegance and dignity
> 
> 2\. YOUNGHYUN (angrec flower): royalty, high grandeur, to carry one’s self with grace
> 
> 3\. DOWOON (moonflower): to dream of love, to wish love with/for
> 
> 4\. WONPIL (primrose, sunflower): primrose means eternal love; sunflower means adoration, longevity, loyalty. Can also be attuned to the Greek myth of how a nymph who kept following the sun (Apollo) in his daily walk across the sky, therefore transformed into his favorite flower and made immortal in his remembrance.
> 
> 5\. SUNGJIN (gladiolus—my personal opinion): strength of character, honor, conviction
> 
> 6\. JAE & BRIAN (jasmine, heliotropes, honeysuckle, red tulips ): jasmine flowers mean to communicate love and sensuality,. In other cultures, ir represents mystery. Paired with heliotropes & honeysuckle (both meaning a devoted love and affection), and red tulips (undying love), the message of the whole transformed into “a beautiful love mystery"
> 
> 7\. WONPIL & DOWOON (red & yellow chrysanthemums): chrysanthemums are simple flowers: red means “the one I love” while yellow means “precious one”. Together they produce the meaning “precious love”.
> 
> —Wonpil saved Dowoon’s number in his contacts as “dough-woon”


End file.
